


Last Stand

by amagicbeyond



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, back when I thought Supernatural was going to end like seven years ago lol, nothing but sad, please note I will no longer accept an ending like this so tptb hope you're listening, this is what I used to think the ending of Supernatural might be like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:27:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25660585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amagicbeyond/pseuds/amagicbeyond
Summary: Dean liked to think that he knew angels. Feathered bastards had gotten themselves so tangled up in his business that he was pretty sure he knew every trick, every motivation, every bit of mojo they had up their billowy sleeves. And of course, there was Cas.None of that could have prepared him for this.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Kudos: 11





	Last Stand

**Author's Note:**

> Read on for what I would now consider the worst possible ending for Supernatural lol... originally posted on Tumblr in March 2013.

Dean has seen a lot of shit in his days. Been around the block you know, did his time–in Hell, in Purgatory, even in Heaven. Killed, maimed, tortured. Tasted his share of blood and guts. Stopped the Apocalypse, even.

Dean also liked to think that he knew angels. Feathered bastards had gotten themselves so tangled up in his business that he was pretty sure he knew every trick, every motivation, every bit of mojo they had up their billowy sleeves. And of course, there was Cas.

None of that could have prepared him for this.

This was a battle. This was an ambush.

He doesn’t know who tipped them off, how they’d found them–him and Sammy and Cas, with one more trial to complete–Team Lock Those Dickwads Up Forever. But they were here.

The Host of Heaven, smaller now since Cas had played vengeful god, but still more angels than Dean has ever seen at once, more than he knew existed. They know they’re under attack, and they’re declaring war.

And here are the Winchesters, with their army of three.

They stand their ground, but Sam turns to him, eyes still fixed on the hundreds–thousands?–of angels walking calmly toward them.

“Dean–”

“It’s all right, Sammy,” he says, shortly, not allowing his brother to voice the fear they’re all feeling. “We’ll hold them off. You can still close the Gates.”

He doesn’t need to look at Cas, to ask him if he minds Dean volunteering him to die. Determination radiates from every part of the angel, standing stiffly next to him. This is his fight, after all.

“Dean–”

Finally Dean turns. His brother has his stubborn face on. “It has to happen tonight, or it’s all for nothing. Do you have a better idea?”

Sam doesn’t say anything. Dean nods. “Good.”

No time for touchy-feelies. The angels are almost here. Besides, they’d lived through worse.

Well, no, they hadn’t. But they had always come back.

Sam hands him the angel blade. Their eyes meet, and then his brother is gone.

He can’t dwell on it, won’t think about it. “Okay, Cas,” he says, turning to the angel. “Any ideas?”

“Kill as many of them as we can before we are killed,” he says, and Dean knows that behind the matter-of-fact in his voice is loathing, self-hatred even deeper than Dean’s own, abhorrence that even now, the only way out was to kill his own kind after all.

Cas’ eyes find his then, and Dean lets the angel’s resolution fuel his own. He isn’t afraid of dying. He’s done it too many times. He’s pretty sure there was a seat waiting for him at the Roadhouse in heaven. Maybe an auto salvage yard. Maybe an Impala.

They raise their blades. “Cas,” Dean says as the foremost angels break into a run, raising their own.

“Yes, Dean?”

“Where do angels go when they die?”

Cas’ eyes flicker to him, and then the angels are upon them.

Angels are fast, but Dean is, too. Cas and him, they fight back to back as long as they can, protecting each other, drawing comfort from the warmth between them, strength from the bond they’d forged over years of fighting together, fighting each other, fighting the world. They’re in sync and in tune and should be damn near unstoppable. But the forces of heaven are too thick, and no matter how many feathers burst into existence as they burn, there are more angel blades to take their place. Dean shields his eyes with one hand as light blazes and angels die, and he wonders why he isn’t dead yet.

He can no longer feel Cas behind him. He slashes blindly, eyes searing in the face of too much angel grace. He’s only a human. He can’t see.

“Dean!”

He feels the burn of a heavenly blade on his chest, but then a weight falls on him and he stumbles, slipping through the tangle to fall on his knees. And then there’s shouting and shadows and snarling and rushing and the crush of limbs falls away, the sounds of fighting dulling as it moves away from them. Dean doesn’t understand.

He blinks as the stars begin to fade from his vision, and he sees what’s left.

Cas, on the ground before him, gasping, as white light escapes from a hole in his chest.

Dean doesn’t think, he moves, pressing his hands against the angel’s chest, feeling his grace burn his palms, keeping it where it belongs. “Cas, you stupid son of a bitch, you took a knife for me?”

Cas laughs, and it’s so rare that he does that Dean feels like he should too, but there’s nothing funny about this. He glances at the retreating angels, and sees more dark figures than there were before, angels slashing at thin air, thick black smoke–

“Crowley came through,” he says, and he should be glad but he can’t be, not when the only thing keeping Cas in his meat suit is Dean, and Dean isn’t enough. Cas coughs, and human blood spills from his mouth.

“You’re gonna be okay, Cas,” Dean says, because maybe if he says it out loud it will be true. “You’re always okay. You always come back.”

Cas isn’t laughing anymore, but he looks up at Dean, bloodstained lips opening and then closing again, as if he doesn’t want to say what he is about to say.

Dean doesn’t want him to say it.

“Not this time.”

He says it with sadness, but acceptance, and Dean feels a rush of anger.

“You wanted this, you bastard. You’ve wanted this since Purgatory. Why can’t you understand–”

Even now, he can’t put it into words.

Cas doesn’t seem to need him to. He’s simply looking at Dean, quietly, like that’s enough for him, like that’s all there is.

Dean presses harder into his chest, trying to force his grace back in by will alone. He’s lost his angel too many times.

“You know,” he says, and there’s a stumble in his voice. “Mom always used to tell me that angels were watching over me.”

He doesn’t know why he said it, but Cas’ eyes crinkle.

“I remember,” he says, and a new truth occurs to Dean, one he’d never considered.

“Cas–”

The angel gasps in pain, and his grace burns hot against Dean’s fingertips. Fear grips him. He surges forward, pressing their foreheads together, breathing in Cas’ last breaths. Hot tears fall between them, and angels don’t cry, so they must be his.

The sounds of battle grow louder. Crowley is losing. It’s all over anyway. He feels Cas’ breath hitch, and then slow.

“There’s one more thing I can do,” his angel says, and Dean pulls back. Cas reaches up, and Dean helps him to stand, keeping one hand to his chest, light spilling through his fingers. Cas looks up at him, and Dean doesn’t bother trying to hide the wetness on his face.

Cas smiles, that sad, small, heartfelt smile the angel’s always given him. “Dean,” he says, and this time it’s not the beginning of something, but an ending. Dean’s heart constricts. _Don’t you dare say goodbye, you bastard, you’d better not–_

“Don’t watch,” Cas says, and then in a rush of wings and light and air he’s away, headlong and headfirst into an army of angels they don’t know how to fight. Dean watches, as the light grows brighter, brighter, and hot, and it hurts–

“Dean!”

And it’s Sammy, knocking into him, forcing his head down, arms wrapped tight around him as angels scream and glass shatters and ceiling beams collapse and Dean’s world comes tumbling down.

All there’s left, in the end, is a broken man in a trench coat, and shadowed wings.


End file.
